chapter 31

high and dry

Seeing Travis conjures up memories of my old self: a boy I barely recognize. I can recall my actions as they occurred just yesterday. I see them play out in my head like a movie—but I can’t remember my motivation behind them. Why the fuck had I gotten into so many fights? The drugs, the fighting, and all the whoring around I had done used to make me feel alive. I remember walking down my high school hallways, high off whatever, looking for someone to glance at me the wrong way. I just wanted them to give me a reason to wail on them. It’s so fucking strange looking back at that time in my life because I’ve come so far since then. I can’t even relate to the man I once was. I was so naive and angry back then, but now, I feel like I’m finally at peace.

I’m thankful that whatever held Travis back from contacting me before seems to have dissipated—just like my worries about the effects of hanging around a man who constantly reminds me of what I’ve lost have gone away completely. Instead of being depressed when I’m around him—I feel fucking elated. He’s so much like Dean in his actions, mannerisms, and even the way he speaks sometimes. If I take a moment to forget everything else, I feel like I’ve traveled back in time and we’re just hanging out—waiting for my brother to show up. It’s strange, but when I’m around Travis, I feel like I’m with Dean again. Just like old fucking times.

Now that I know Travis has struggled in life as well, I feel more at ease when I’m around him. Already, we feel closer than we were before I left Colorado. We both have our demons and things we want to put behind us, and hopefully together, we’ll be able to do just that and move forward. It’s nice being around another A.A. member. There isn’t any of that awkwardness that comes when explaining why you can’t go to bars or why you have to meet at more “safe” locations. I don’t have to worry about being judged when I’m around Travis because we’re in the same fucking boat. When we’re together—we understand each other. We don’t discuss the problems we’ve had with substance abuse. Hell, most of the time we don’t even discuss Dean: the man who brought us together in the first place. Instead, we keep our conversation shallow and light. I’m thankful he doesn’t want to talk about that shit because I don’t know when the day will come where I’ll be comfortable with discussing my past. Our past.

Our casual conversation dwindles as we finish up the last of our lunch. I bring up the one thing that’s always on my mind: Grey. Travis doesn’t like to talk about him much. I’m sure it has something to do with the baby reminding him of Dean—but sometimes I just can’t help myself. I used to get fucking annoyed when parents would always talk about their children. I used to wonder if those people just didn’t have a fucking hobby. Or anything else in their lives they could discuss? But now I can see why they couldn’t shut up about their kids. When you have a little one to take care of they quickly become your entire fucking world.

“I can’t believe Grey will be turning one in two months,” I comment with a snort of disbelief before taking a sip of my Coke.

Even as I say it out loud, I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I can’t fathom how quickly time has passed. On January sixteenth he’ll be a year old. Fuck, does time fly by fast. Soon he’ll be walking and talking—and, most likely—giving me a handful of grief. I want to have a nice birthday party for him. A really nice party—nothing like the ones I used to “plan” in high school, which were thrown together last minute as soon as my parents left town.

I’m so far off in my own world, it takes me a minute to notice Travis’s uncomfortable expression as he sits stiffly in his seat across from mine. Whenever I mention my son, there’s a noticeable change in his demeanor. Something always flashes in his eyes. And while it’s fleeting—I still recognize the emotion all too well. Every time I see that look, I want to question him about it. But it’s usually long gone by the time I can open my mouth.

He takes a sip of his soda and gives me a small, tight-lipped smile. “You guys throwing a party?” he asks, obviously trying to relax in his chair.

I almost ask what his problem is, but I decide against it. I’m not in the mood for a confrontation when I have so much shit going on in my life already. “Yeah, I wanted to have a get-together for him. I was hoping you’d come?” Because of the tense expression on his face, the last part comes out as more of a question. I lean forward, waiting to see if he’ll decline my invitation.

He shrugs and takes another sip of his drink. “Sure, man. I can probably make it,” he answers in a monotone voice.

Shit, man. Don’t seem too fucking enthusiastic. He’s only your best friend’s son for God’s sake! When I was strung out in California, Dean and Cat had Grey baptized and asked Travis to be his Godfather. He was the obvious choice because, at the time, what sort of guidance could I’ve possibly given? The only thing I’d ever “taught” anyone up to that point of my life was how to roll a joint. Now that Dean’s dead you’d think Travis would want to take an interest in Grey… But he just doesn’t. Whatever the reason he’s acting like this, I just don’t fucking get it.

“Well, I really hope you can make it, man. It’d mean a lot to us,” I say, guilting him into coming.

“I’ll come then,” he says with a reassuring smile. However, I can hear a twinge of dishonesty in his voice. I hope he’ll actually show. “How’s Grey doing anyway?”

This is the first time Travis has asked about Grey on his own. Any conversation we have about him has been entirely my doing. I can’t help but smile, hoping this is a step in the right direction toward strengthening his relationship with my son. With a shit-eating grin, I answer, “He’s adjusted so well. To be honest, I can’t believe how long I’ve had him with me. These past few months have flown by so fucking fast.”

“Almost six months since Dean and Cat’s deaths,” Travis solemnly replies. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

I know he misses Dean just as much as I do. I’ve drawn the conclusion Grey must be some sort of trigger for Travis because whenever I bring him up, Travis shuts down. I find it all so devastating, no matter how much I really do understand his response. Grey’s just a fucking baby, though. He deserves to be loved and not shunned for being a reminder of someone who’s gone. Avoiding him isn’t going to change the past and suppressing things isn’t healthy for anyone. Regardless of whether we avoid what hurts us or not—it’s still going to be there.

Trying to keep the energy in the room light, I respond, “I can’t believe it, either. I don’t mean to sound sappy or whatever, but he’s growing up so fast!”

It seems like it was yesterday when I held him in my arms for the very first time. I can clearly remember how fucking nervous I was because he looked so small. I thought he seemed so incredibly fragile. My mother hadn’t helped my nerves with the way she hovered over me. She acted like she was waiting for me to make a mistake. I remember while holding him he had his tiny eyes closed, and he had this small, angelic smile on his face. I have loved him from that very first moment. The love only strengthened when he opened his eyes and looked at me. He smiled as if he knew I was his family and I was there to take care of him. He reached out and held onto my finger as if it were his little way of saying he loved me, too. I’ve come to find with every day that’s passed, my love for him has grown. Before meeting Grey, I thought a baby would be a fucking nuisance, when in reality, Grey has been anything but. Grey has been a blessing in my life. I don’t want to even think about where I’d be without him.

Sensing Travis’s discomfort I shift the conversation to more neutral topics, causing the tension in the room dissipate. We hang around the restaurant for a little while longer before we break away with the promise of hanging out again soon. It’s so fucking nice to have another good guy friend in town. As much as I love Ronnie, it’s nice to have a guy to hang out with. While Travis isn’t exactly the fun-loving and carefree man he once was—neither am I. Nevertheless, he’s still an awesome guy to hang out with. As long as I don’t touch on any topics that make him uneasy. I went from having zero friends to having three. Which may seem an insignificant amount to some, but it’s a lot for someone like me.

I arrive home to find Grey practicing his “walk,” which usually consists of a few steps before falling onto his ass onto the carpeted floor. Over the past couple of days his legs seem to have gotten stronger—as well as his determination. Therefore, he can now take a few more steps before falling. I’m so fucking proud of him already; even if he hasn’t made it across the room yet. His face lights up as soon as he sees me. He reaches his arms out as he wobbles back up into a standing position and tries to run toward me. I hurry forward until I’m a few feet in front of him before dropping to my knees, encouraging him to walk the rest of the way.

“Dada!” he laughs, clapping his hands in excitement before he concentrates on taking the last few steps to get to me.

Pride swells in my chest as I watch him take one step after the other. When he’s just about a foot away, his legs get shaky and he falls back to the ground again. I’m happy to see the landing didn’t faze him, and with a huge grin on his chubby, little face, he crawls the rest of the way.

“Dada!”

“Good job, buddy!” I exclaim as I pick him up. Seeing him accomplish anything always makes me feel fantastic. It feels like I’ve accomplished something, too. I can’t imagine how proud he’ll make me as he grows up. I honestly don’t think there’s a single thing he could do to let me down or change the way I love him.

 

 

 

“Mommy, made you picture! Mommy!”

Mommy no care, she shoos me away and look back at TV.

“What’s that in your hand, buddy?” Daddy asks as he sits by me.

“I drew dis, Daddy!”

I hand him picture. I work hard on it. It me, Dean, Daddy, and Mommy. It make Daddy happy.

“This is amazing, buddy! You did a great job!” He smiles and then kisses my head. “Can Daddy have this to put in his office. I want to show everyone at work your great picture.”

I smile. I made Daddy happy! He like my art!

“Yeah, Daddy! You have it, Daddy!”

“Thanks, buddy. Daddy’s so proud of you.”

I shoot up in bed and wipe the sweat from my face. What the fuck was that? Dreaming is so rare for me—so, when it does happen, it always feels like an electric jolt to my system. My eyes shoot wildly around my dark bedroom as they fill with tears. I clench my jaw, trying to get control of myself. It makes me feel so weak but remembering my dad that way fucking hurts.

I want to feel angry. Anger is so much easier to deal with than disappointment, and that’s what I feel when I think of him now. So fucking incredibly disappointed. He’d been my hero for so long—the only one whoever seemed to truly care for me. I grew up with the opinion of him being perfect—but I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have been so fucking naïve. No one is perfect; regardless of how much you idolize them. When I was younger, my dad was like a superhero to me—but now he’s just a regular human being, flaws and all.

I can disapprove of his behavior… but can I truly hate him? He’s loved me unconditionally. I think about all the times he’s shown me his love without any hesitation: He loved me when I got expelled from high school. He loved and supported me while I was getting my GED. He loved me when I decided to leave home to travel around the U.S.. He even loved me when I was strung out on drugs and alcohol. He loved me when I returned home, no longer the boy I was when I left. He loved me when I became Grey’s guardian. He’s supported me every single step of the way, regardless of his feelings about my behavior. Even when he didn’t like me—he loved me. Doesn’t he deserve that same unconditional love? I wipe my watery eyes before any tears escape. Suddenly, all I want to do is call my father.

Ronnie stirs awake beside me and gives me a sleepy smile. Stretching her arms high above her head, she asks, “What’s wrong, baby? Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head. Thank fuck it’s dark because I don’t want my girl to see me like this. “I just had a dream. It woke me up.”

She runs her hand up and down my arm in a comforting gesture. God, I love her.

“Do you want to lay back down with me?” I fucking sniffle in response and I know my girl heard it. “Trevor? Baby, what is it?”

I shake my head again, worried that I won’t be able to control my emotions if I start talking. Ronnie sits up, kisses my shoulder and wraps her arms around me. We sit in silence. She doesn’t press me, but instead, waits until I’m ready to confide in her.

“I just had a dream about my dad.”

“A bad dream?”

“No, it was a really good memory,” I quietly state. “When I was in preschool I used to draw him a ton of pictures. I drew a few for my mom, but she never wanted them—so, Dad would take them and tell me how proud he was of me.” I hate talking about shit like this. It makes me feel like I’m that vulnerable fucking kid again.

“He was a good dad, wasn’t he?”

“He was great,” I answer, honestly. “I try to emulate him all the time when I’m with Grey.”

As fucking pissed as I am at him, I still want him in my life. He was, and still is, an extremely supportive parent, who wants nothing more than to see me succeed. Although, I’m repulsed by his actions. I’ve always thought cheating was the worst thing you could possibly do in a relationship. Nevertheless, I’ve been the “other guy” quite a few times when I was fucking young and stupid. I’m disgusted, angry, and very disappointed—but he’s still my father and I love him. I need to talk to him about this. I can’t just write him off and have him become another ghost in my life.

“I’ll call him tomorrow. He needs to know that I don’t hate him.”

Streetlights break through the blades of the blinds, illuminating Ronnie’s beautiful face. She gives me a soft smile and nods her head in agreement. “It’s hard to see our parents as normal people who are just as capable of making mistakes just like we are. A year after my mom died, my dad started dating again. I was absolutely devastated. I wanted him to mourn for my mother until I was ready to move on. I stopped talking to him, and would treat his girlfriend, Nickie, so horribly. I felt ashamed of my actions later on and I apologized to him. He told me that, considering my age, he expected nothing less. I was a young girl who lost her mother. He understood that and forgave me, telling me he was sorry, too. Now, we get along great, but for a long time I truly hated him.” Ronnie pauses, shaking her head at the memory. “I think you’ll feel better when you talk to him.”

“I think I will, too.”

He’s offered me his love without conditions, so it’s about time I do the same.